


CeCe

by Dracien



Category: Original Work
Genre: Boundry Between Humanity and Monstrosity, F/M, Gen, Original Fiction, Tokyo Ghoul elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracien/pseuds/Dracien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brilliant genetic engineer creates a remarkable new type of cell with multiple new properties. Just as she is about to start experimentation on living test subjects, her funding is pulled. Her research is halted and threatened by short-sighted fear mongers. Devastated at the possibility of losing her life’s work, she recklessly injects her experimental cells into her own veins! The early results are well within expected parameters, but after some time the cells begin to express some surprising properties. Initially, the justification to strive toward scientific good that her discovery can provide to mankind overshadows her increasingly questionable ethical decisions.  A dark twist pushes the young intellectual crusader to make more and more allowances against her ethics and basic human morality. The downward spiral takes our heroine careening out of control on a slippery slope that could cost her everything. The final costs may include her career, her freedom, her sanity, and her very life!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something that I had to write for a class at university. The class discussed the ideas of monstrosity. I figured I would post it here and see what happens. mature debates in the comment section are welcome, just remember to be polite and provide thorough explanation of your points and ideas.

The early morning sun shines brightly through the mostly open windows of the laboratory’s breakroom. I sit, curled up in a lounge chair nearest the windows with my cooling mint tea just enjoying the peace the morning brings. The biotech company I work for, cleverly named BioTech®, mainly focuses on medical pursuits. The research done here includes attempting to grow fully functioning organs using cells from the potential organ recipient in order to reduce the risk of organ rejection, pharmaceuticals ingrained with the patient’s DNA so as to reduce the chance for allergic reactions, and general biological methods to assist in the growth and healing of people around the world. I was hired on due to my genetic engineering background, and am currently working on an entirely new cell type. I have decided to call this new cell type Red Child Cells or simply RC cells, because in order to support their structure they have morphed to a shape resembling a human fetus and have the coloring to match that description. These cells however have shown impressive results for their versatility. Under certain conditions they can flow freely like blood, or solidify as hard as bone, and even maneuver in some state in between like muscles, the cells also have shown great propensity for repairing several kinds of tissues. I haven’t been able to do too much research on these cells, but that will soon change after my grant proposal gets accepted and I can start using live subjects.  
  
Just then I hear the door to the breakroom open and my supervisor Caroline Simon walks in. She has a pensive look on her face, but I don’t let that get me down. I flash my best smile at her, showing my dimples, and cheerfully call out “Good Morning Caroline”. She glances up, just noticing that she wasn’t alone in the room and gives me a strained tilt of her lips, “Good Morning CeCe”. Her voice is low and demeanor grim, I set down my tea mug and walk over to her, “Is everything okay?” Caroline glances back at me and then away, “It’s about your grant proposal”.   
  
“What about it?” I reply, voice low to match hers and the foreboding feeling filling the room.   
  
“Well,” She begins, “it’s been denied.” I let out a small gasp “And the board has decided that you are to return to McCarthy’s lab, and your project terminated.”   
  
She says the last part with a pained expression. Caroline and I both know that the all-male staff in McCarthy’s lab does not take female scientists seriously; especially me, standing five feet and zero inches, with my dark and wavy hair, perky disposition and cheery dimples to match. I had to beg and plead to get transferred out of that lab. For my first seven months working at BioTech® in that lab I wasn’t even allowed to touch a single test tube outside of cleaning the glassware, let alone perform actual scientific processes. “W-What?” is all I can manage to stammer in light of such news. Caroline looks at me with sympathy, she knows the way McCarthy’s lab treats women, having started her career there herself, and all the pain and effort it took me to be switched to her lab. “I’m sorry CeCe,” Caroline murmurs into my hair as she embraces me tightly “I did all that I could. Apparently one of the sponsors was at your panel in New York. He probably didn’t even realize that your cells weren’t actually human fetuses and went on a rant at the board meeting claiming your work unethical and a crime against humanity.” I stare up at her in shock, “I-I could explain. They aren’t human fetuses, they just look like it to support the protein structures and chemical pathways and, and-“.   
  
“Sh-sh-sh,” she shushes me, “I already tried that. They are really set in their decision and think that you have been lying in your reports.”   
  
We stand there in the breakroom for what seems like an eternity until finally, I walk out gather my things and prepare for the lab transfer. I take one last look at my research. All the work I have completed over the last four years sits innocently on top of desks and counters, the RC cells wait patiently in their petri dishes for the day’s trials that will not be completed. A single tear rolls down my cheek as my life’s work is to be sent to the chopping block and I sent to a figurative dungeon of mistreatment and suppression.   
  
X X X X X X   
  
It has only been two months since I have been sent back to the McCarthy lab and I am already at the end of my rope. None of my ‘coworkers’ call me CeCe like I prefer and not even Dr. Chandler to keep things professional. No, they ignore my wishes and call me Cecelia, not with comradery, but like someone would mildly scold a small child that wanted to be called something ridiculous like princess starlight. I sit, hiding, in one of the smaller storage rooms at the back of the building. Caroline, bless her heart, somehow managed to save my research and document it as destroyed. She could lose not only her job, but also her research and credibility as a scientist. I am very thankful to have her in my life. With her help I have managed to not only keep my RC cells alive, but also to initiate a natural replication process. Even without the grant money I have managed to progress to the point that I could incorporate the cells into live samples. With all the stress building up in the McCarthy lab I am nearly ready to just use myself as the sample.   
  
Why not? There have been plenty of people in this world that have altered their bodies for ‘art’ or simply as a form of preference. I could use myself as a sample, prove that the cells have potential, and get my position in Caroline’s lab back. The RC cells have too much potential for the board to be upset that I didn’t destroy them like they had instructed. It is a perfect win-win. I quickly grab a sterile syringe and carefully transfer five mL of my RC cell solution to myself intravenously before I lose my nerve. After a quick but thorough initial parameters check of myself and a procedure write-up, I head back to the hell-hole called the McCarthy lab where the only science that awaits me is the measurements of sugar in a cup of coffee.   
  
X X X X X X   
  
It has been six months since I have been transferred to the McCarthy lab and the only things I am permitted to do is clean glassware and make coffee. It is truly an insult to my Ph.D in genetic engineering to be reduced to undergraduate volunteer work. However, this lack of regard for my skills has worked in my favor. I am able to keep detailed records on the progress of the RC cells coursing through my body. Initially there were no outward results that the cells did anything. I was beginning to suspect that my body recognized the cells as an invasive force and put my immune system to work to eradicate them. A blood test however revealed that they were flowing freely and replicating at an astounding rate. With such promising data I decide that a more thorough test is necessary to accurately gauge the effects of the RC cells. With a little bribery in the form of the latest Legend of Zelda game for the 3DS, Mason from the teaching clinic was more than happy to help me with some MRI scans. Mason is much too busy with his new game to pay any attention to the scans as they flash across the screen and just gives me the original physical copies. The images show the RC cells to have settled ether within or around my appendix, restructuring the organ into a more spongey texture, functioning like bone marrow and recycling and creating more RC cells.   
  
I begin to walk back to my basement/lab with a skip in my step. I probably pay a bit too much attention to my beautiful scans and not enough to the stairs I am waling down. A simple misstep has my stomach dropping along with the rest of me as I begin to fall down the latter half of the bottom flight of stairs. The MRI scans fall everywhere as I grab onto the side railing in an attempt to catch myself, but my awkward position only succeeds in twisting my wrist painfully. As if that wasn’t enough, my leg twist under me in what can only be called a wrong angle and the resounding pops of both the tibia and fibula snapping echo up the stairwell. I let out a strangled whimper of pain as my body collapses in on itself and continues its painful descent to the floor. My head slams to the ground first, closely followed by the rest of my body. Pain throbs everywhere while my eyes fill with tears. An attempt to move anything revealed that the only major injuries are my right wrist and my left lower leg with a possibility for a mild concussion. My eyes slit open just a crack to see the dark purplish bruising and massive swelling of my wrist. It will undoubtedly take months for these injuries to heal, but just as the thought passes through my mind an intense heat pulses through me.   
  
With my eyes still locked onto my wrist, I watch as the swelling recedes and the ugly bruise fades away nearly as quickly as they appeared. I sit up quickly and realize that I no longer feel any pain anywhere on my body. I quickly look to my horribly disfigured lower leg and watch in a trance as the limb realigns itself, and I can feel the tissue and bone knitting back together to its original shape. The RC cells had shown the ability to repair other types of cells in small increments during lab trials; even within me the cells would repair small scrapes and bruises almost immediately after they were inflicted. These injuries, however, were much more drastic than a small scrape or bruise, yet the RC cells worked almost instantaneously and began repairing the bone in my leg and the joint in my wrist. It was slightly uncomfortable feeling the bone and ligaments stitch together and rearrange themselves back into place, but I hardly registered the feeling with the realization of the medical applications to my RC cells.   
  
I sit at the bottom of the stairs for a few minutes after the fall attempting to imagine the possibilities this increased healing rate implies for humanity. Barring an instantaneous death, any person in an unfortunate accident could be healed and able to leave the scene of a car-crash, building collapse, or even a gun or knife wound. Terminal cancer patients could be given a better chance at survival, and the elderly would not have to fear a stumble, slip, or fall. There is even a possibility that perhaps amputee patients could get their limbs back. A slight twitch in the corner of my lips lifts into a full out grin. A loud gurgling noise snaps me out of my reverie, and it takes me a minute to realize that the sound came from my own stomach. Well, that is certainly reasonable. It takes a lot of energy to repair tissue and bone, so of course I would be hungry after the RC cells completely healed such intense injuries.   
  
There are many places to eat near the lab offices. I forego my favorite soup plantation and head straight to Bob’s Steak House. The smell of cooking flesh and savory sauces usually puts me off my appetite, but sometimes a person wants to eat meat. For some reason I can hardly stomach my salad even soaked in ranch dressing, but somehow managed to devour a ten-ounce steak. I usually have a small appetite, barely able to eat half a sandwich for lunch. The increased desire for protein, and a lot of it, is most likely due to the massive energy depletion caused by the rapid healing I just went through. My body is attempting to restore its energy reserves. However I think that I should do some research on nutrition and dietary patterns just to be sure that this isn’t some side effect to the RC cells. Not that an increase in proteins in a person’s diet could ever be considered detrimental; it is merely a factor that should be considered for the inevitable distribution of RC cells.


	2. Chapter 2

Today is just not going to be my day. First, there was a black-out at my apartment so my alarm did not go off when it was supposed to. That ended up with me not only having to skip breakfast, but also coming in late for work. Later, after reading the entire protocol for one of the lab’s experiments, three times, I set up the necessary equipment only to be scolded for ten minutes by Mark Willis, about the importance of the research conducted in this lab and that they cannot allow for anybody to cause disruption or make mistakes in such a prestigious laboratory. After a deep calming breath I try to remind Mark that I do in fact have a Ph.D in genetic engineering and several years’ worth of laboratory experience. He just looks at me with a patronizing smile, pats my shoulder a few times and responds with, “Don’t let it happen again.” He walks off and I hear him mumble something about the ability to make babies not actually having anything to do with genetic engineering. I was too shocked to actually respond to the slight and simply stood there clenching and unclenching my fists and taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself.   
  
After a few hours of acting as a human dishwasher I realized that during my morning haste I not only forgot to bring a lunch, but also forgot my wallet. Caroline, my saint and savior, offered some of her own lunch. I looked at her Greek pasta salad and internally cringed. Usually, I would love to be able to partake in Caroline’s mastery of the culinary science, but it did not look very appetizing at the moment. I declined as politely as I could and dug for change in my car’s ash tray. As I sit in my storage room/lab, nibbling on the beef jerky I got from a vending machine I contemplate a thought I had earlier.   
  
Caroline looked very nice. My eyes were drawn toward the pale gentle slope of her neck, and the soft, silky-smooth portions of her forearms. It could simply be that she is my only light during this dark time of my life and I am mistaking the feelings of appreciation for attraction. However, it feels a little different. I only wondered what her delicate flesh would taste like; I did not feel the desire to hold, hug and kiss her as would be usual for romantic inclinations. It was a strange thought, short and passed just as quickly as it arrived, but now in the solitary confinement of my joke of a laboratory all I have are my thoughts. Unfortunately, I am due back to the McCarthy lab in a few minutes, so with a bone shaking sigh I head to the main cause of my grief.   
  
I was not very surprised when I was directed to organize Dr. McCarthy’s main office as penance for my earlier meddling with laboratory supplies. I would bet three months of my paycheck that the man had never even heard of a filing cabinet. The room resembles the possible after-math of a savage battle between a paper Mache data-gorilla and a piñata filled with rabid lab rats. There were papers strewn across the desk and floor with scribbles and notes written in some unidentifiable language, many of the surfaces had deep coffee rings where a cup had been placed many times without a coaster, and there was some indistinguishable odor wafting from the entire room and burning my nostrils. I take six minutes of deep breathing to attempt to collect myself and face the room with what I hope is determination. If they were going to belittle me with derogatory tasks such as cleaning up after my supervisor, then they can damn well eat their words when they see how absolutely perfectly this office is cleaned by the time I am done.   
  
It took hours to completely clean that horrid excuse for a researcher’s office, but I had that room so clean someone could eat off the floor. I even printed out a cross reference folder simple enough that a ten-year-old with attention deficit disorder could find any data they desired in there. I take one last look at the culmination of my hard work and smirk at the thought of the faces of my ‘coworkers’ once they see my superb skills. A quick glance at the clock determined it to be 9:47. I look back so quickly I hear something pop in my neck: 9:47! The laboratory building closed almost three hours ago and nobody thought to find and tell me! I quickly rush through the building to collect my stuff and go to my car. It takes me all of two minutes to realize that my car lights were left on all day and that the battery is dead. I sit with my head on the steering wheel wallowing in my own misery for a while before grabbing my phone to call a taxi cab only to have a dark screen greet me. I quickly check the power button and sure enough my cell phone is dead as well. With unshed tears in my eyes I grab enough change for a bus ticket and heading for the nearest bus stop a half mile away.   
  
I walk as quickly as I can. The laboratory building is not in the shadiest part of the city, but it is not located in one of the nicer portions either. After only about five minutes my chest is filled with panic as I hear a deep and gravelly voice behind me grumble “well hello pretty lady”. I spin around and am greeted to the sight of a grotesque man, standing at least six feet tall and at possibly three times my weight, smirking at me with a tilt to his chapped lips and a strange glint in his eyes. Not wanting anything to do with this man I try to turn around again and leave, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me into the dark alley away from the light. A filthy calloused hand clamps around my mouth before I have the chance to scream for help. He leans in close to my face and breathily utters “I am going to have so much fun with you tonight”, and reaches inside his pocket for a switchblade. With a quick motion the stranger flips the knife open and lifts it with clear intention to strike me. I close my eyes in pure petrifying fear, raise my arms in a reflexive motion of defense, and merely await my horrible fate. Today really just wasn’t my day.   
  
X X X X X X   
  
The clock on the oven states that it is a little passed eleven o’clock. I somehow managed to run the entire distance from the dark alley to my apartment in under an hour. I sit shaking in the entrance-way in a small heap of limbs, my back against the cold front door, panting heavily and my eyes stare unseeing into the middle-distance. My clothes, still soaking with fresh blood and sweat stick to my body uncomfortably, but somehow the smell of the blood doesn’t seem to bother me. My hand moves up to wipe my chin as I slurp up some of the drool that has dribbled passed my lips. A small near-manic laugh bubbles out of me. I always thought that your mouth goes dry during episodes of great traumatic stress. I dare not blink, because every time I do, in that moment of pure darkness, images from the scene that I just experienced flood through my mind. I am still not sure which one of us was more shocked, me or that horrid stranger.   
  
The moment was so short, every movement happened so quickly, yet every aspect of what transpired has been seared into my brain. I can still see the glint of the knife poised to strike and the cruel twist on the face of my would-be attacker. I can still hear the tell-tale snap of bones breaking and the subsequent screams of pain that follow such an injury. They were not my screams, no; they were the screams of the stranger. The clattering of the switchblade dropping to the pavement accompanied our faces of shock and fear as we stared at his now-crippled limb. His forearm dangled uselessly, bisected by a small deceptively strong tentacle-like appendage. The appendage wrapped once around the crushed forearm and had a deep purple coloration with a dark blue undertone, almost like an ugly bruise color. Following down the tentacle revealed it to begin just slightly to the right of my belly button tearing a hole the size of a fifty-cent piece in my shirt. The man attempted to pull free from its grasp, but it was of no use. The tentacle continued to constrict until it completely severed the hand from the rest of the body, blood gushing out of his artery and splattering all over me. Only after the stranger ran away in complete terror did the tentacle evaporate into nothingness leaving me alone in a dark alleyway in absolute blood soaked shock.   
  
I slam my head against my front door to try to get those atrocious images out of my head. If it wasn’t for the blood on my clothes and the hole in my shirt I would be able to simply imagine that none of that happened. It is of no use though; the images remain in the space under my eye lids. With still shaking legs I somehow manage to lift myself up and begin to head over to take a shower. I slowly peel off my clothes piece by piece, leaving a trail from the front door to the bathroom. The heat from the water soaks into my body releasing some of the tension that has built up. Perhaps tomorrow it will all be okay and I can return to life as if today had never happened.   
  
X X X X X X   
  
It has been three days since that night in the alley and I have yet to step out my door. These past three days have been filled with anxiety fueled terror. Every set of footsteps passed my front door could belong to police officers that want to know about the blood stains that were left behind in the alley or some government agents here to take me away for possession of inhuman appendages. My body jumps at every knocking sound I hear and that terrible tentacle pops out in some reflexive defensive action, growing larger every time. I have been sitting at the same spot at my little kitchen table drinking chamomile tea in my pajamas since I got out of the shower that day. I only got up to make more tea or go to the bathroom even sleeping uncomfortably at the table once my exhaustion becomes to overpowering and I can enter a dreamless sleep. Caroline has called each day to check up on me, but I have only told her that I caught a nasty flu and will not be able to come in to work for the next week or two.   
  
My stomach grumbles at me angrily, unsatisfied with only tea to fill it. It is not as if I could help it, the food in my refrigerator tasted like burnt rubber or dried chalk. In my current state my body seems to be rejecting everything from fresh vegetables to microwaveable dinners. I do not know whether it is a side effect of the traumatic incident or something else. The hunger pains have finally become too much to bear, I need to find something to eat. I quickly change into some real clothes and put on my most durable winter coat in an attempt to prevent the tentacle from possibly emerging at the worst possible times. My search first takes me to the busy chain stores near my apartment. So far if it didn’t smell like old leather shoe, it did smell like sweaty football socks. I kept walking until I reached the more questionable eateries. The places here get their ingredients from questionable sources and even the health inspectors avoid the area. There is still nothing that I find remotely palatable. The smells that emanate from the food joints are similar to sewage boots.   
  
Finally, I have reached the end of any type of structured society and walk down a side street filled with abandoned buildings and trash heaps. There are no people within sight or hearing distance. I do not know why I just continue to walk aimlessly. My stomach craves something, anything that I can actually eat. I am nearly crying with the frustration; I am so hungry, I just want to eat. Suddenly, I smell something. I cannot identify specifically what the smell is, but whatever it is its smells good. My feet follow the scent without my noticing. Oh God, finally something to eat. I nearly sob with joy at the prospect of an actual meal. The fact that I have been wandering around a slum for who knows how long slipping my mind and replaced with only one word: food. I nearly trip around the last corner and am welcomed to the sight of a dirty dead-end that some homeless person has constructed into a trash haven. At first I am confused. There is nothing remotely resembling food anywhere.   
  
A sound to my left alerts me to the presence of the owner of this filthy establishment. Crouching near the floor and talking to himself is a dirty, ragged hobo holding onto his arm. I could see some blood dripping to the concrete from an injury he must have sustained. My vision begins to tunnel and focus onto the sight of the injury. I can still smell something delicious in the area, yet I can only keep my eyes on the hobo’s injured arm. Hobos are not food, are they? My mouth begins to salivate and my breathing becomes heavy at the thought. He looks so dirty, yet he smells so good. My mind goes fuzzy and my feet begin to take me closer to the hobo.


	3. Chapter 3

Oh my God. Oh, fucking shit, fuck fuck fuck, shit shit shit. I-I actually ate a person. I did not eat all of him, just some of him, most of him, as if that makes it any less wrong. Oh my God, shit. I just participated in cannibalism. I’m a fucking cannibal. The worst part is that I just ate parts of a human, organs, blood and bone, and yet my stomach has never felt more satisfied in my life. I do not gag; my stomach does not roil with the knowledge of the actions I just took. I can only remember fragments of my confrontation (murder) with the homeless man. My new appendage burst forth and struck the man down. I can see my hands tearing flesh off bone and bringing the bloody substance to my mouth. I can hear the echoes of the man’s screams, a sudden stop to all sound, and then the wet slurping sounds of raw flesh being devoured.   
  
By the time my stomach had been satiated enough to end my hunger driven craze the sun had already set and the darkness of night enveloped the city. Immediately after taking in the sight of my blood-soaked hands and shirt, I ran back to my apartment. I now sit at my front door shaking, the same way I was the last time I ran frantically back to my apartment. The tentacle emerging from my abdomen is now as thick as my wrist and squirming uncontrollably while trying to break free of the confines of my coat. It usually disappears after the first few moments of panic, or once the perceived danger is no longer threatening. I fear that it might be out to stay and will no longer retract back into my body.   
  
There is no way that I could possibly hide this hideous deformation from anybody. I will be forced into quarantine and labelled a murderer and monster. There was no way to foresee this kind of outcome given the research I conducted to create the RC cells. The cells have taken on a life of their own. They are advancing at a rate too quick to comprehend and transforming my body to accommodate their needs. The RC cells still have so much potential for better things. I could go back to the beginnings of my research and reanalyze every strand of DNA to find the location or locations that enabled such a rapid evolution of the single cells and my entire organ structure. There must be a way to keep the strength and healing capabilities of the RC cells without the horrible disfiguration and drastic change in dietary needs.   
  
I am changing with the RC cells and must adapt my life-style to fit their needs. There is little choice for me but to accept the way that my body has become for now. Unfortunately, I will have to eat people in order to survive until I can figure out a way to undo the changes occurring in my body. My mind is too valuable to be lost due to some experimental mishap. My only relief is that the person I killed tonight was just some dirty homeless man and not somebody important. A shudder travels through my body at the thought that I could just as easily have killed a police officer, a medical doctor, or even a child. Any one of those losses would be considered a tragedy. The homeless man however was obviously a waste of space and society’s resources. He had clearly given up on obtaining anything in life, so I was probably doing him a favor in ending his miserable life. I probably did a favor for society as well for eliminating that waste. There are certainly many other types of wastes that the world would be better without.   
  
Suddenly and idea springs into my mind. I am already in a state that I cannot survive without eating human flesh, but that doesn’t mean I cannot be choosey of whom I eat. There are over seven billion people on this planet with nearly four million living in just my city alone. Statistically speaking there are hundreds, maybe thousands of people that are wastes of space and resources; there are definitely many people that are detrimental to society, such as: murderers, rapists, and drug dealers. This is a way to kill two birds with one stone. I can eat just enough to survive while simultaneously eradicating humanity of its unsavory blemishes.   
  
A calming feeling washes over me at this realization. I stand up on legs that are no longer shaking and notice that my new appendage has disappeared during my chaotic thought processes. A little smirk teases at my lips while I walk to the bathroom to shower off the blood and gore. Perhaps this doesn’t have to be such a horrible situation after all. I will still have to take some time to get my new appendage under control before I can go back to work, but with the first sense of calm I have had in the past few days, it doesn’t seem totally impossible. I really feel like I could make this all work out for the better.   
  
X X X X X X   
  
It took an extra three days to get the appendage under my complete control. Afterwards, it took me another month to develop a system that kept me fed, yet also prevented anyone from becoming suspicious about my behavior and I have been performing it for four additional months. I have Wednesdays and Sundays off from work, so alternating on those days once a month I go out to get some food. I drive an hour out of the city, in a different direction every time, so that I do not develop a pattern. It helps that it seems I only need one or two bodies a month. My search for an appropriate prey can take anywhere between one to six hours. I have to be completely sure that the person that I choose is absolute trash, passed the point of redemption, and most importantly would not be missed. I usually cannot eat a complete person in one sitting, so I bring a large cooler with me to store the left overs for later.   
  
Today is one such day. I have been sitting in a cheap and dirty donut shop on a street corner for the past 2 hours simply watching the people that travel to and fro. I have never really been one to people watch, with my studies and research taking up most of my time. However, now, with all the frustrations from work and stress from my experiment taking a frightful turn, I find the act of observing people to be rather relaxing. It has almost become a game to me. I have done my research to ensure the accuracies of my hunts. There are many sources to gather information on different types of people that are wastes or detrimental to society and humanity as a whole. It was difficult to do this research at first, with the full knowledge of the background reason as to why I needed to do this. After a while I was reminiscent of my 8th grade science fair project. The simple and rudimentary research patterns and resources managed to keep my mind from remembering the horrors of the necessary evil I would have to perform later.   
  
Currently, I have my attention focused on three people. The first is an old, filthy homeless man sitting just inside an alley. He has no sign or cup begging for change, is clearly having an intense argument with the pile of trash next to him, and even the passersby are making a motion to avoid him. The second is part of a group of gangsters that have been sitting threateningly on a set of stairs that lead into a warehouse. All of the gangsters have grotesque tattoos covering their faces, chests and arms, and present themselves with an attitude that obviously reflects their lack of intention for any honest work. There is one that sticks out to me though; the way he stands, slightly leaning against the wall, and stares dumbly at nothing reveals his position in the gang: he is a follower, one of many, and easily replaceable. Finally, there is a prostitute smoking on a corner farther down the street. Her physical appearance heavily suggests the abuse of methamphetamines and alcohol. I hesitate to select her because there is a decent chance that she might have children that she is attempting to support on the left over funds after first supporting her obvious addictions. However, considering the state of her clothing and hygiene, or lack thereof, her theoretical children would most likely be better off being taken in by CPS and the government’s child welfare program.   
  
The choice becomes much easier as I see the useless gangster check his watch and leave the group. It is difficult to actively isolate one person from the herd without attracting attention, however should they stray on their own my hunt becomes that much easier. I watch silently as he lumbers down the sidewalk and turns the corner the prostitute is working. I put my book away in a nonchalant manner and exit the donut shop ready to get this necessary deed over with so I can go back to pretending everything is normal. The little dirty stain of the city travels a very unimaginative path straight for a few blocks, then left for a few more. I increase our distance and cross the street as he enters a residential area in shambles. The average income of the tenants must be below the poverty line for the area to be in such a state. Luckily I wore one of my older coats, so I do not stand out too much. He stops to knock rhythmically on one of the doors and looks around while he waits for some reply. I do not even pause in my strides and continue along the other side of the street.   
  
It is a narrow street, so as I pass his position I can see that the one to open the door could hardly be old enough to have entered high school. The child looked nervous and twitchy, like he knew what he was doing is wrong and he is afraid getting caught. The weasely gangster places his hand on the child’s shoulder, rubbing forcefully in a mock gesture of comfort. I can just see the exchange of cash and a small plastic baggie filled with a white powder and my stomach drops. Not only is the dirty little rat a useless body, but also a drug dealing monster corrupting the youth. I continue along for a few more blocks then cross the street into an alley on the same side as that horrendous pig.   
  
My heartbeat begins to speed up and my palms begin to sweat while I stand and wait for him to get close enough. No matter how many times I do this, I still feel anxious. I still feel wrong. He is close. I can hear his feet shuffling on the sidewalk, as if he is too lazy to actually pick his feet up off the ground while he walks. A quick glance to my left reveals that the alley is a dead end and there are two large dumpsters that form a sort of wall blocking access to further down the alley. I take a deep breath. I have to do this, it is necessary to survive; he is detrimental to society anyways. With movements quicker than the human eye can perceive, I grab the resource wasting pile of meat and pull him back behind the dumpsters. He has just enough time to cry out “what the fuck, bitch” before my coat falls open and my new appendage drives straight into his chest cavity and grips his heart.   
  
This is the part that I don’t like. That fraction of a moment as my prey realizes that they are going to die. I don’t like the look of abject horror in their wide eyes as their own mortality is bared before them. It mostly confuses me. Why would they want to continue living the horrible life that they lead? What is so special about surviving without actually living? Why do they suddenly care about their life so much, when not even 10 seconds ago their most productive achievement was turning oxygen into carbon dioxide? Thank goodness though the look only lasts a partial second and then they stare at me blankly after I have crushed their hearts and they die of exsanguination. With the heart completely destroyed the blood pressure drops to zero, which makes it very easy to use my appendage to chop up the body into manageable pieces without getting blood splattered on my clothes.   
  
I am just sectioning off the pieces that I will eat now and the ones that I will save for later, when my phone vibrates in my coat pocket alerting me to a phone call. It is usually a bit dangerous to stand so close to a dead body for too long, but this is a shadier part of the city and not too many people pass through here so I decide that I can answer the call with a “hello”. The reply has me smiling from ear to ear and my heart flutters a bit. “Howdy, hey hey, CeCe”. The voice is deep and strong with a cheery beat to it, and it is unmistakably Walter Evans. My face blushes and I can hear myself giggle like a teenager. Walter Evans is my ex-fiancé. We broke up because our work and our lives went in two different directions. He was a police officer climbing the ranks to a detective and I was a doctoral candidate buried to the nose in research and experiments; we could feel ourselves drifting apart. We left each other on good terms and still send the occasional birthday or holiday cards.   
  
“Yeah, I was just calling because work has brought me back to your city,” he begins, ”and I was wondering if we could meet and catch up?” Oh goodness, just hearing his voice brings back such wonderful memories from much simpler times. I look down and suddenly remember the carefully sectioned corpse at my feet. “Uh, yeah sure,” I reply, thoughts racing through my mind. I will not be able to get my car, store my meal in the cooler, drive back, store the meat and shower in time for an evening meal. Even if I did make it in time for a dinner somewhere, it would be strange if I didn’t eat anything. The only ‘normal’ food I have been able to stomach is tea, which is just leaves and flowers in water, similar to a salad but I can’t eat that, why? I will have to do some more research later. Then an idea hits me, “how about coffee sometime?”   
  
“Wow, you sure have changed a lot,” he replies and my stomach plummets in fear. Does he already know what has happened to me and all of the things I have done these past few months. “Last I checked you only drank tea” Walter continues after a short pause. I let out a breath of relief. “Yeah, that is what I meant, you could drink coffee and I could drink tea” I giggle a bit at the notion. There is no way he could know about the RC cells or the alteration to my body and dietary needs. I have been very careful about how I obtain my food, how and where I store it, and continue with all of my social activities so as not to appear suspicious in any way. “I am off work this Sunday, how about you?” I ask. He replies in the affirmative and we set a time and place to meet. I hang up and get to work on packing away my fresh meat. All of the pieces fit into 3 five-gallon black trash bags that I tie up and leave behind the dumpsters as I go back to get my car. I giggle a little as I think about my prey getting a fitting end: the trash of the city has ended up in trash bags. He wasn’t a very large person, so I might have to do this all over again in a few weeks. That, however, is an issue to think about on another day. For now I am going to finish here, go home and think about what I should wear to the coffee shop Sunday.


	4. Chapter 4

The days had dragged on seemingly endlessly, but Sunday finally arrived and with it my almost-a-date with Walter. I chose to wear a powder blue sleeve-less button-down with a light-grey shrug and some tan colored capris with white sandals. As is my custom, I arrive twenty to thirty minutes before the assigned time and it is not even five minutes later that I see Walter entering through the front. He glances around and spots me in my corner booth. A great smile splits his face as he walks over and takes a seat opposite myself. “I knew you’d get here early” he says while he takes the seat, “which is why I arranged a time for half an hour after I thought I would get here” he confides in a mock-whisper. “And I knew you would get here late, which is why I have already ordered a pot of tea to sit here and cool while I waited,” I replied back in the same confiding mock-whisper. I can already feel the light-hearted warmth that seems to always follow Walter around.   
  
“On time is not late” he chuckles while he flags down a waitress to order.   
  
“Agree to disagree”   
  
“So, what’s new in your life” he asks casually.   
  
I pause for a moment. My cheery mood slowly begins to deflate. Goodness, it certainly has been a long time since we last met simply to catch-up. My mind brings up the major life-changing events that started the down-hill roll that is my life. The fateful day that ended my official research, and later when I began my unofficial continuation of that same research. I remember each and every moment that has led to this point, all the changes my body has gone through, and all the adaptations I had to fulfill in order to support those changes. The reality of all my alterations over the past year comes crashing down onto my like a tidal wave. My eyes water and I let out a choked sob. Walter is immediately by my side on the booth wrapping me in his strong, warm arm. I turn toward his shoulder and begin to cry my eyes out; all the while Walter is rubbing my back soothingly and murmuring calming words into my hair.   
  
This really is what I missed the most about him. His ability to take control of a chaotic situation and calm it into something easily manageable has helped so many people including myself so many times. He was always a strong pillar of support for any and all that may need help. There has never been a time that Walter had been hesitant or unsure of his actions. He has always been confident and held strongly to his beliefs that every person is worth his time and effort. I used to joke that Walter had too caring and soft a heart for the police force, but he would laugh and refute that you were supposed to have a caring and soft heart for the police force.   
  
After nearly an hour of gut-wrenching sobs, I was able to speak in a low coherent voice. I explained to Walter about my research being terminated, and my experiences in the McCarthy lab. I purposely left out the information of my unofficial continuation of my research, and the subsequent horrible side effects that it has brought. Walter is an officer of the law, and I don’t want to put him in a difficult situation by telling him of my not quite legal actions of the past year. All the while as I told my story, Walter did not say a word. He simply continued to hold me and rub my back in comforting circles. Once I have calmed down as much as I could, I sit up from his hold and ask “so, what kind of work brought you to this neck of the woods?” in an obvious attempt to change the subject. Walter, the blessing that he is, doesn’t comment on it. He simply returns to his original seat, where I notice two sandwiches have been placed recently, and answers my question as if I didn’t just have an embarrassing breakdown in public.   
  
“Well, first there were just a bunch of random missing person’s cases. Most of them were the usual types, homeless people, a couple of low rank gangbangers, a few prostitutes, and one case of a man over ninety years old with heart conditions. Anyway, they all seemed pretty normal at first. Most of those kinds of people tend to skip town for whatever reason, they owe the wrong kind of people some money, they made one too many enemies, heck that old guy probably was just senile and got up and walked away on his own; nothing really special about that. Recently though there have also been medium sized blood stains in little nooks and crannies near their most frequented locations. There have been twelve missing persons with twelve blood stains associated with them over the past five months, and all of them have been within one hundred miles of this city. And get this: there was a half mangled corpse on top of a similar blood stain found within this city’s limits before any of the other blood stains were found.”   
  
Walter continued describing more about the case he was given. He described all the scenes the blood stains were found, the types of people that went missing in the same areas and concluded that they must have been killed and their bodies transported elsewhere. It was decided that due to the similarities of the missing persons’ backgrounds and the scenes of the blood stains that a single person or small group is committing these either kidnappings or more likely murders. I listen with only half an ear, still a little tired from crying my woes out, when suddenly Walter uses a phrase that makes my muscles tense and my stomach drop. “All of the victims so far could arguable be considered absolute trash, passed the point of redemption, but most importantly they would not really be missed.” Oh God. He’s talking about me. I replay all that I heard about the case in my head, and everything matches up with my actions for the past few months. “And that is what is wrong with self-titled vigilantes.” Walter continues, not noticing my reaction, ”They only care about instant gratification and they believe that their own lives are much more important than everyone else’s.”   
  
“Man,” He continues after a short pause “why don’t people understand that all lives are valuable. Everyone deserves a chance to turn their situations around for the better, even if all hope seems lost.” Walter takes an aggressive bite of his sandwich and stares into its folds as if it was the sandwich’s fault people couldn’t agree with him. I grip my mug tightly and mumble into my tea, “But, some people have completely given up; they don’t care about their chances to be a better person.” My voice sounded so small and broken even to my ears. I could only imagine the impression I am giving to Walter right across the table. I hope he doesn’t think that I am arguing for his imagined vigilante killer/s, even though I kind of do actually. I do not enjoy killing, but I have to. It is the only way for me to survive. Walter just said that all lives are valuable. Doesn’t that include me? Don’t I also deserve a chance to work hard to turn my horrible situation around for the better, even if my hope is lost?   
  
“CeCe,” Walter’s voice is strong yet soft. He slowly reaches over and grasps my hand gently, “I don’t know what you have been thinking, but I am sure that life will get better for you. I know that you are working hard and grasping for any chance to get back out of the McCarthy lab for good.” He flashed a smirk “I have faith in you. I have faith that you will be out of that lab, working on the best research ever and all those guys will end up working in the Chandler lab.” A giggle bursts from my mouth unbidden. Leave it to Walter to sooth my mental pains and disperse my hidden fears. “There’s the CeCe I know and love.” Hope begins to swell in my chest. I really believe him. He is truly the pillar of support that I have needed to get myself through this terrible mess and back on track to engineering my super cells without the current side-effects.   
  
After about an hour or so, Walter walks me to my car and presses a chaste kiss on my cheek “Remember CeCe, I will always be on your side”. I drive home feeling better than I have in nearly a year. I don’t even think the sexist pigs in the McCarthy lab could bring me down from this happiness. Now every one of their condescending comments and self-important actions will just add more sweetness to the irony the day they have to work for me. Oh how I have missed Walter. I have really needed him this past year. I really hope he doesn’t get into too much trouble when he fails to capture the supposed vigilante killer/s.   
  
X X X X X X   
  
It’s been two months since Walter’s and my not-quite-a-date. He keeps me updated on his investigation and I keep him updated with the horrors of the McCarthy lab. Walter has always been too trusting of others, and I feel really bad taking advantage of his faith in me. My previous method apparently did have a pattern. In order to lead the detectives off the trail I have gone increasingly farther in one direction for my hunts to make it seem like their ‘vigilante /group’ is traveling away from the city. I have managed to convince myself that it is for the bettering of humanity; my RC cells have increased my strength, healing rate, and all of my senses. I can only imagine the applications to society, if I can only get rid of the side effects, or else make the RC cells temporary in the human body to prevent them from occurring in the first place.   
  
I sit in my basement/lab going over every piece of information that went into making the RC cells. There is still nothing here that would explain why the cells acted the way they did. They almost behave like they are a different organism, almost like a symbiont. Before I am able to fall too deeply into frustration, my cell phone rings. I answer it without looking, “hello?”   
  
“CeCe! Where are you?!” Walter’s voice shouts through the tiny speaker. Even through the device I can tell he sounds rushed and in a panic. “At-At the labs?” my answer comes out more of a question. “I need you to stay there and whatever happens don’t panic, okay?! I promise I will explain everything later; just don’t panic!” He hangs up after barely finishing his last sentence. I sit and stare at the cell phone for a few minutes just thinking. I don’t think I have ever heard Walter sound so frustrated or angry before. Whatever happened must have impacted him deeply. He also wanted to know where I was and told me not to panic. So it also must have something to do with me. What could possibly include both of us and might cause me to panic?   
  
The answer hits me like a ton of bricks and the air rushes out of my lungs. The police are coming to arrest me. They must have somehow figured out that it was me. My change in method must have caused me to mess something up, or be witnessed, or left behind some sort of evidence that points directly to me. It doesn’t matter how or what happened that lead to this. All that matters now is that I get out of here with all my research intact. Thank God I always keep everything on an external hard drive. It only takes five minutes to get all of my stuff and leave the lab office with a flimsy excuse of “I am not feeling well”. I am actually quite glad that during one of my earlier fear driven moods, I created an escape plan should any groups of people come after me. There are already five sets of clothes, a package of toiletries, 2,000 dollars in cash and a sleeping bag in the trunk of my car.   
  
I can still feel my heart pounding in my chest and my hands are sweaty on the steering wheel, but I cannot stop now. The RC cells have too much potential to be terminated and I am the only one well versed enough with the subject to be arrested for my necessary evils. I put my car into drive and begin the long process of relocating. I know that my actions may appear guilty to the untrained eye, but many scientists have skirted or out-right ignored ethical boundaries to support their research. Without those scientists our knowledge and understanding of disease, viruses and even cancer would be decades behind where it is now. The RC cells will become just like the research done by all the morally compromised scientists: reluctantly accepted as something amazingly good, but brought about the wrong way.   
  
X X X X X X   
  
It has been two months since my quick escape from the lab offices. My continued research has made leaps and bounds in a positive direction. Without the constant condescending remarks from the people in the McCarthy lab and the tedious busy work they had been assigning me to stay out of their research, I have been able to focus solely on the RC cells. I have begun to look at the cells, not as cells that perform a function within a more complex organism but as single celled organisms. This new angle managed to bring light to many of the characteristics the RC cells express.   
  
At the beginning of my journey attempting to stay a few steps ahead of my pursuers, I had discarded my cell phone, changed license plates, cut and dyed my hair, and even purchased a few sets of colored contact lenses. I am very glad that my grey Toyota Camry is simple, plain, and is owned by another ten million U.S residents, making it the most average car. As for traveling directions, I have been sure to head in completely random directions while occasionally crossing paths I have already taken in order to throw curves into the general directions I take. This zig-zag, back and forth method confuses even me to the point that I don’t know which way I will end up going next. Hopefully, the police force will be unable to determine my next location as well and end up guessing the wrong way.   
  
I am currently in Atlanta Georgia, at one of the poorer, over-crowded communities within the city. The people that live here wander the streets like stray dogs and treat public property like their own personal pigsties. Everywhere I look there is graffiti, trash and broken infrastructure, both intentionally and worn down by disrepair. I had been propositioned for coitus five times within the first two hours I arrived, and it was still day light! Within those two hours I have seen numerous drug deals, out in the open with no fear of their actions, several prostitution hook-ups, and pick-pockets and burglars galore at the near-by pawn shop. The majority of these people clearly are wasting their gift of live and bringing others down with them.   
  
I scouted the area until the evening, and then I went into a trashy looking bar that I had already seen various unsavory characters enter as well. I sat in a corner table, one that gave me a view of the entire room. Many of the other occupants are already quite drunk, and most of the others are not far behind. There are a few characters here and there that give off a particularly cruel or disgusting aura, but nothing that strikes me as particularly deserving of death. Suddenly, a minor scuffle breaks out near the bar. A severely tipsy but not quite drunk woman and an arrogant self-entitled man are mumbling some type of argument. The woman, wearing a skirt short enough to reveal the bottom forth of her butt, fishnet stockings, and six inch heels, was clearly refusing something even in her slightly drunken state. The man clearly unaccepting of her refusal begins to forcefully push her until they exit a side door. Of course, nobody follows after them to prevent any possible altercations.   
  
It could have been any type of argument, but for some reason I feel the need to go check. I slip out of the bar silently and carefully walk down the side street the arguing duo departed to. Sure enough the scene before me is filled with human depravity: the man has her pinned to the wall and is aggressively tearing at her clothes, while the woman attempts to fight and claw her way out of the situation. A resigned sigh forces its way out of my chest and I decide it is time to make myself known, “I do believe the lady is refusing your advances, sir.” They both stop and gasp at my sudden appearance. There is a desperate plea in the eyes of the woman, whereas the man looks at me with only contempt. He growls out, “Go away, bitch, or your next” and continues his attempt to remove the woman’s clothing. I attempt more sternly, “Excuse me sir! I do not know where you learned to read social cues, but that woman’s body language is clearly refusing your advances.”   
  
The man turns to face me, while still pinning the woman to the wall with his bulk. “What the fuck did I just say, bitch.” He pushes aggressively against my shoulder and the force pushes me back a few steps. The woman uses his shift in balance to her advantage, knees his groin area and runs off during his resulting groan of pain. Once he has a moment to catch his breath he turns his glare toward me. “Now look what you did. You had better be prepared to fucking take responsibility.” I simply stand and stare as he rushes toward me, obviously prepared to use his larger size to overpower me. It will be unsuccessful. The RC cells provide me with increased strength and reflexes. I easily doge his charge, but he turns and charges again. I don’t bother to doge this time, allowing him to pin me to the wall in a mirror of his previous attempt.   
  
The man grins smugly and maliciously, while I just calmly stare back and say, “I will give you one more chance to just stop this now, go home and we can both just forget about this, okay.” He looks at me slightly confused, but doesn’t even pause in his assault and rips my coat open. He takes one look at my midriff shirt and gropes my chest. I sigh again and release my helpful appendage straight into the dirty pig’s chest cavity and proceed to instantly crush his heart. I have gotten much quicker and more efficient at preparing and storing my food. However, during my segmenting of the filthy animal I hear a door open and close and the sound of a box of bottles crashing to the ground. I quickly turn around and see a terrified bartender pressing himself back into the wall staring at my appendage as it cleanly cut another part of the body apart. Oh, God, he saw me. This can only end poorly. My body reacts quicker than my mind could think and a second appendage shoots out and proceeds to strike and kill the bartender.   
  
Oh my fucking God. Oh God, I killed him, and now I have two appendages. Oh no, oh fuck, oh fucking no. The realization is a cold stone in the pit of my gut. This new guy was just some random bartender, probably stuck in a low income family attempting to make ends meet, and I just killed him. Oh God no. What am I going to do now? Oh God I just killed an innocent bystander. He saw me cutting up a body with my appendage and I just panicked. I have been trying so hard to prevent anyone from seeing this deformation until I can reverse this particular side-effect, and I just ruined it. Oh God what do I do now? Do I leave him here to be found and give the police a clue to find me, or do I treat him like the vermin that I eradicate: cut him up and then eat him?   
  
In the end I do something a bit in between. I do end up segmenting his body; it is too conspicuous to move a full grown body in one piece even in such a destitute neighborhood. Then I bury him on the outskirts of town. I try my best to honor him, as much as the stranger that killed him could, but it was not like I had much choice. This accident has hit me hard. In this one reflexive action I managed to tear down all the restrictions I placed in order to keep my sanity. I take a deep breath and try to accept it. I killed a man in cold blood. Oh God what have I become? I fall to my knees and cry over the small grave I dug for him. As I cry, I can feel my world shatter around me. Everything has gone to shit so quickly and I don’t know how to clean it up. I cry for hours until all my tears have been used up. I feel completely broken and there is only one thing that I can think to do. It is most likely a very stupid idea, but at this point the pain is so raw that I don’t really care.


	5. Chapter 5

The sky is dark and filled with clouds threatening to rain heavily onto the stone and grass. I stand silently gazing without seeing at the two stone tablets in front of me. This has to be my most stupid idea since I thought I could use myself as a test subject. I have probably already been found; there are probably already barricades in place to prevent any chances for my escape. I don’t really care right now. All I can focus on now are the two graves that sit in front of me. One reads “Here lays Amelia Chandler, loving wife and mother”; the other reads “Here lays Richard Chandler, loving husband and father.” It is times like this one that I miss them so terribly that it physically hurts. They were always the ones that I could count on to put the mess I made back together. They were always the ones that knew exactly the way to make all my fears vanish into thin air.  
  
They are gone now, though. There is nobody here to help me this time. There is nobody to take away my fears and put the pieces back together of my shattered life. I wonder sometimes, how they would work to help solve my problems now. But I am not them; I don’t know what to do at this point. I wonder sometimes, if I should just end it all; if I should just accept that I failed and terminate my research completely like I was instructed to do over a year ago, myself included. During those late nights, as I studied, read, and calculated every variant physically possible and a few that weren’t, I sometimes thought to just end it all. I couldn’t, because that would mean all the things I had done, all the lives I had taken would truly become meaningless. To invalidate the lives lost for scientific pursuit would truly be a cruel action. At some point my motivation merged from the advancement of the RC cells to the validation of the lives I took. I didn’t want those deaths to be in vain.  
  
So I stand here, at the graves of my parents, hoping pointlessly that they will simply sit up, stroke my hair and tell me that it will all be better soon and I can go back to the time that everything was alright. During my reverie the clouds had darkened, and the air began to smell like rain, yet the sky held back holding its breath and waiting for the moment that it would release its pent up energy. I could hear the rustling of grass that signaled a person approaching. I could smell the warm spice that I had, until recently, associated with safety, but now with trepidation. I could sense the man standing behind me a few yards back and knew instantly his identity: Walter.  
  
“I knew you would be the one to find me.” I say to him without so much as turning my head. He doesn’t respond, simply stands there and I can feel his eyes on my back, observing. “I suppose I brought it upon myself. You and I are the only ones that know about this place.” We both stand silently for a few moments, waiting for the other to make the first move. As the tension in the air begins to thicken intolerably Walter speaks, “just come with my quietly CeCe, please.” I finally turn to look at him. His face is unreadable and he has handcuffs in one hand and his gun pointing to the ground in the other. He has never fired it at a person before in all his years of service, so I hardly register the firearm. “We found the bodies, CeCe,” he continues, “or, what’s left of them.” My gaze slowly falls to the ground.  
  
“You’re afraid of me.”  
  
“I am not afraid, I just don’t understand,” Walter replies sternly.  
  
“You don’t understand, and you are afraid of me.” My voice is hardly audible, but in the silence of the graveyard I know he heard me just fine.  
  
“What was I supposed to think CeCe. You just vanished and when we searched your apartment we found parts of the latest missing persons in your fridge packaged as if they were bought from a fucking grocery store. When we searched the cold storage room for the McCarthy lab, we found even more parts!” Walter’s voice rose with every sentence, both in volume and disbelief. I step forward, an explanation ready at my lips, but I freeze as I notice his gun arm lift ever so slightly. I look into his eyes, pleading “do I look like a monster to you? Do you really think I would do anything to hurt you?” Walter’s expression turns grave as he replies, “I don’t know what to think.”  
  
We stand and stare at each other for a few moments, a roll of thunder echoes in the far background. “I had to,” I nearly whisper onto the wind, my body beginning to tremble slightly. “I only took as much as I needed to survive and didn’t waste a single piece.” I can hear the quiver in my voice, but I press on. This may be my only chance to truly explain things. “I need to survive. The RC cells have the potential to cure diseases, prevent deaths caused by major injuries; it can even end the war against cancer!” I know that I sound more desperate than confident, but I want so badly for him to understand. “Yes, but at what cost?” he asks. “As soon as I eliminate the dietary side-effect, there will be no costs. The RC cells survived before the rapid alterations and I am sure they can revert to that state once more.”  
  
Walter’s face and voice harden at my explanation. “Is that all they were to you: a ‘dietary side-effect’? They were people, Cecelia, real people that you killed!” I am not sure which part hurt worse, the cold-blooded murder accusations, or the distance he created using my real name. I blame the former for my angry outburst, “They were animals Walter! Filthy pigs that squandered every chance given to them for a better life (Smith 416)! In fact, many of them took their chances and chose to be horrible filth! They preferred the life of a degenerate, of a detriment to society! Those people didn’t deserve to live!”  
  
“But they didn’t deserve to die either!” Walter all but yells at me. “Everyone deserves to live their lives and all the opportunities that come with living!”  
  
“What about me!?” I realize that we are both yelling at each other and I can feel the tears prickling behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I try to sound confident, but it still cracks, “Don’t I count as part of ‘everyone’?! Don’t I deserve to live my life, and all the opportunities that come with living?! I am a scientist! My research could benefit all of humanity! There are over seven billion people on this planet; we can afford to lose a few for the pursuit of science. Those mongrels didn’t care about their lives; they didn’t care about the lives they were destroying in the process of their continued existence! In fact, everyone is better off now that they are dead! All of them should just-!” I didn’t get to finish what exactly they all should do. I was interrupted by a sound too distinct to be the striking crack of lightning, or even mistaken as the harmless cry of fireworks. My cries were silenced by the roar of a gun firing.  
  
I open my eyes, since when were they closed, and look up at Walter. He is staring at me wide-eyed and panicked. Instantly, I can see the cause of the fear clearly painted across his face. My two appendages are standing firm in defensive positions, one already regenerating the shallow wound caused by the bullet. The bullet that clearly was shot out of Walter’s gun, still poised to shoot again. Lightning strikes, the resulting thunder echoes, rain begins to fall from the sky and finally a single tear rolls down my cheek. Walter shot me. I don’t have much time to reflect on that as five more shots cry out from his gun. My appendages are faster and stronger though, so none of the bullets get through their defensive ring. Walter falls to the ground, the rain begins to beat down harder, and he tries to hastily refill his clip. The tears fall freely now from my eyes. Walter, the man that always believed in the light of people, that always had faith in the goodness of humans, the man that promised to always be on my side, just shot at me. Not my accident, but with intent to kill.  
  
I suppose that really determines all that I am. Walter had vowed to never shoot at a person, and yet he had shot at me. Walter, the last hope I had to retain my humanity, has deemed me not a person, but a monster. I feel my shoulders sag, my limbs go limp. I am not sure how I manage to stay standing up after the hollowing out of my soul. My lips part, but no sound comes out. There is nothing for me to say. Walter manages to reload his gun and fires off six more shots. None of them cause me any physical damage, but they strike pain directly to my heart all the same. He is out of bullets now, and tries to scoot backwards away from me; the fear inside him prevents him from even standing up to run away.  
  
I decide to make it easier for him: I turn around and begin to walk away. The rain continues to fall and the cold wind bites at my exposed face. At least this way I can pretend it is the weather that is causing my face to be wet and not the tears. The weather is causing my body to shiver and not my shattering sobs. Clearly the painful tightening of my chest is due to the gloomy darkness caused by the storm and not the realization that there is no longer any hope for me. I am truly and irrefutably a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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